


Fight me?

by cold_nights_summer_days



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Natasha Romanov, Coffee, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy, Hospitals, Kinda?, Lucky is in here cause why not, M/M, Pneumonia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, based on a tumblr prompt, im bad at tagging can you tell, no beta we die like men, pillow forts, sick-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 20:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18818353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cold_nights_summer_days/pseuds/cold_nights_summer_days
Summary: Based on the tumblr post; when I was in the hospital I kept telling the nurse (a cute guy) to fight me when he came to check my vitals. I must have seduced him with my terrible lungs, because on my last day he gave me a coffee cup with his number that said "fight me?"OR: Steve is stuck in the hospital for the seemingly millionth time, but this time he has a cute-- no scratch that, Hot-- nurse.-------I saw this post a really long time ago and wrote this piece, but I'm just now posting it because I found it while cleaning out my computer files! I saw this post and immediately thought, "Oh my gosh, Stucky!!"





	Fight me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bucket_1917](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bucket_1917/gifts).



> Hi! I hope you enjoy reading this short little fic as much as I did writing it. This hasn't been edited as heavily as I would have liked it to be, so if you catch any mistakes please leave a comment so I can correct them. Also, if you're reading this author's note, I would like to tell you that you are an amazing person and that you deserve the best in life!
> 
> P.S. This is gifted to my best friend, Misty [Bucket_1917] because she was the one I originally wrote this for back in like, January or something. And sorry that nothing is indented-- AO3 wouldn't let me do that for some reason when I was formatting it.

Hospitals sucked. The sheets were scratchy, the food tasted like cardboard, and worst of all, it always smelled like antiseptic. It did not matter how many nights Steve had spent there; the smell always made his stomach churn. It invaded his nostrils the moment he stepped through the doors and lingered on his skin for days after he left. There were also overly-cheery nurses that constantly coddled him because of his small stature. It was also probably because Steve could not breathe, but for him, that was a bit of an afterthought. All of that, combined with the fact that Steve had pneumonia for the second time that season, had Steve in a foul mood.

Steve sighed, glancing over at the bedside table to where his phone was resting. Natasha had texted him around a half an hour ago to say she would be there soon with “provisions”. He was starting to grow restless with no one to talk to and no more candy crush levels to beat. Soon enough, Natasha came waltzing through the door to his room with a Walmart bag full of snacks, several pillows, blankets, his laptop and a copy of his favourite book. She refused to bring his art supplies because she knew that he would work on commissions instead of resting. 

“I was starting to think you had forgotten me,” Steve said. He tried to laugh afterwards and instead had an intense coughing fit. Natasha grimaced, but did not say anything. If she said anything, Steve would only complain about being coddled by her and the nursing staff. 

“How could I forget about ya? You blew up my phone all morning. Natasha, bring pillows these ones suck. Natasha, can you bring me the good blanket from the closet, this one is scratchy. Natasha—” Natasha would have kept up her little mock-fest if she had not been interrupted by a nurse coming to check Steve’s vitals. This nurse must have been new, because neither of them recognized him. He had short, chocolate hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut granite, and seemed tall, though that may have just been because Steve was laying in a hospital bed. He flashed a handsome smile after introducing himself as James. Natasha winked behind James’s back, signing “Is he your type?” Steve was sure his face was on fire as he signed back, careful not to rip out the IV.

“First the girl across the hall from me, and now the nurse who’s supposed to make sure I’m not dying?” He rolled his eyes. Natasha had been trying to set him up on dates for a while now. Steve always managed to avoid showing up from them by claiming he was busy with commissions. 

“I didn’t choose where he works. I don’t know if you can tell from where you’re at, but that ass is fine.” Not that Steve would ever admit this to anyone; Natasha was right. That ass was fine. 

“I’m not asking for his number while I’m sitting here in a fucking hospital gown, Natasha.”

“So, you’ll do it after?”

Natasha was relentless. Normally that would not be such a bad thing, but when Steve groaned and shut his eyes so he could not see anything else she had to say, James had asked if he needed any painkillers. To be fair, the way he furrowed his eyebrows when he was worried was cute, but still. Steve just shook his head and gave Natasha the bird. 

Not much happened after James left. Steve and Natasha chatted for a while, but once Steve started to yawn, Natasha took quietly to the plastic chair in the corner and pulled out her phone. He only woke up once in the middle of the night to hack up his lungs, and figured Natasha had closed all the blinds, because he could not see anything at all. Not even the light from the hallway. 

Steve was not sure what time the nurse came in the next morning, but whatever time it was, it was too early. He still could not see anything, but then again, his eyes were not exactly open. 

“Like pillow forts, do ya?” James laughed when he walked in. Steve finally opened his eyes and was greeted with the familiar blue of his own sheets. “Dammit Nat,” He muttered, rolling his eyes. Leave her to do something like this and make him look stupid. 

“Sorry to ruin your fun, but I can’t check your vitals if you’re under a mountain of pillows.” 

“Fight me.”

“Maybe later,” James said, plucking a pillow from the mountain to reveal Steve glaring at him. James looked tired; maybe he was still on the same shift as last night. Still, Steve thought, he looked cute. Damn Natasha for putting the idea in his head. 

Steve tried his best not to think about the conversation he’d shared with Natasha the night before as James did his job, but it was difficult. He was annoyed that he had to answer all the questions about his breathing and how much pain he was in. Wasn’t over ten times enough?

Peeved though he was at his circumstances, Steve was still sad to see James leave once the questions were all answered. 

Next time Natasha visited she brought Clint and Lucky with her. Lucky was Clint’s service dog, whom he had for anxiety and PTSD. Lucky bounded right up and onto the mattress with Steve before laying down on top of him. This was a common habit of Lucky’s. Clint always griped about being abandoned by his own dog, but he did not actually mind. 

Once Lucky had settled down, Steve started on Natasha. 

“Did you seriously build a pillow fort on top of me as soon as I fell asleep? He asked. Natasha tried (and failed) to stifle a laugh. Clint was simply confused. 

“Did you?”

“Well, duh. He didn’t do it, and no one else came in here.” 

“What pillow fort? Who’s he?” Clint asked. Both Natasha and Steve ignored his questions. 

“Why? He literally walked in here and said, ‘Like pillow forts, do ya?’” Steve attempted to lower his voice to match the way James had sounded, but it sounded wrong coming from him. 

“Now when your grandchildren ask how you two met, you’ll have a cute and funny story!” 

“Who is Steve having grandchildren with?!” 

“I’m not having grandchildren with anyone, Clint.” Steve may have aimed the sentence at Clint, the pointed look he gave was purely meant for Natasha. 

“Whatever, I’m just saying you two would look cute together.” Natasha conceded, but Steve knew this was not the last of this conversation. With Natasha, it never was.

The next morning when Steve woke up for his vitals check, James was already there. He made some joke about sleeping in, flashing that stupid smile of his. Steve tried to get ahold of himself. He had talked to this man three times, he was in no position to go and develop a crush. His brain did not seem to care though, and neither did his heart. 

“Fight me.” Steve repeated his line from yesterday, earning a laugh from James. It was a beautiful sound; refreshing like a cold creek on a hot summer day. Steve wished, not for the first time, that Natasha had brought him his sketchbook. It was stupid to waste such a perfect model.

Just then, Steve started coughing up a storm. He reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, and in his haste to grab it, knocked it to the floor. Luckily, it was plastic, so the only thing that shattered was his dignity. When James came back (when did he even disappear?) Steve took the cup gratefully, downing the whole thing in a matter of seconds. James waited until the whole ordeal was over to say, “I won’t fight you. I already know you’d win.” 

 

Nobody visited Steve that day. Natasha and Clint had work, Peggy was not due back in the states for another week, and Sam had group therapy at the VA and liked to be alone after his sessions. Steve did not mind, though. It gave him a chance to catch up on some dearly missed Brooklyn Nine Nine episodes on Hulu. Steve was glad NBC picked up the show. It would have been a shame to let all that comedic potential go to waste. Also, they managed to quote Obama and mock Trump in their latest episode, so they earned extra brownie points for that bold move. 

At some point in the day, Steve was able to commandeer a pencil and some paper from the nurse, Victoria, at the front desk. For the better part of the afternoon, Steve sketched the New York City skyline. After that he switched to practicing some panels for the comic he was working on. It was a pet project of his based on a joke that his friends had started in high school. In senior year, Sam had made a joke that Steve was Captain America because not only was his birthday on the Fourth of July, he went around picking fights for “justice’s sake”. He’d just have to make sure to hide the papers before Natasha showed up again, or whichever nurse was on duty would earn an earful about letting him work instead of rest. 

Steve managed to stay awake most of the day, but fatigue caught up with him around eight p.m. He’d fallen asleep with his laptop open and his earbuds still in. When he opened his eyes the next day, there was a cup of coffee waiting for him that read: Fight me? with a phone number scrawled underneath.


End file.
